Galacticahttps://girishkumar.me
Wed, 02 Jan 2019 03:37:20 +0000 en
hourly
1 http://wordpress.com/https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/790f626dcdc11f1174c9a705bbc49575?s=96&d=https%3A%2F%2Fs0.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.pngGalacticahttps://girishkumar.me
European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman by Theodora Gosshttps://girishkumar.me/2018/08/14/european-travel-for-the-monstrous-gentlewoman-by-theodora-goss/
https://girishkumar.me/2018/08/14/european-travel-for-the-monstrous-gentlewoman-by-theodora-goss/#respondTue, 14 Aug 2018 13:26:12 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6394Continue reading European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman by Theodora Goss]]>I recently re-read the first book in the series, The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter, just ahead of the release of the sequel European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman. The first one dealt with Mary Jekyll helping Holmes and Watson solve the Whitechapel Murders, and in doing so uncover the truth behind her father and his assistant Mr. Hyde, who is actually Dr. Jekyll himself, and the mysterious Alchemical Society to which he belongs. On the way, Mary meets her sister, Diana Hyde, Catherine Moreau, Justine Frankenstein and Beatrice Rappacini and together they formed the Athena Club to try and get to the truth about the Alchemical Society. Each one of these girls has been experimented on by their fathers, except Mary and Diana, though Diana is a product of the experiment itself. Joining them is Mary’s housekeeper Mrs. Poole, and the scullery maid – Alice.

At the end of the first book, they receive a letter from Mrs Murray, Mary’s ex-governess, requesting them to help save a Lucinda Van Helsing from her father. At the beginning of the second book, we find them planning their trip to save Lucinda, when Catherine comes along with the news that a few of the members of the Alchemical Society are meeting somewhere in London. They also get another telegram telling them that Lucinda has gone missing.

Mary and Justine, and Diana – who just turned up on the trip – are on their way to Vienna to meet Irene Norton (Adler) on the Orient Express which was paid for, despite Mary’s refusal, by Holmes and Watson. Catherine and Beatrice, on the other hand, have stayed back to figure out what is up with these members meeting up.

Without giving away too many spoilers, I shall only say that everything gets messed up and there’s a kidnapping, an unexpected trip to Styria, they meet some vampires and the president of the Alchemical Society.

Just like the first one, I absolutely loved the second book. This one had more action, more Diana, whom I LOVE, but, sadly, much less of Mrs. Poole. The story was great, even if it was getting slightly draggy in the middle. The breaking of the fourth wall and the dramatic irony was used perfectly in this book and didn’t get too annoying at all. I was afraid that it was a novelty in the first book that might get overused in the second, but thankfully that was not the case at all.

This book also introduces us to a whole host of new characters from other Victorian novels – one might’ve already guessed that Dracula would make an appearance given that Van Helsing is from that series; Carmilla makes an appearance too, from the gothic novella Carmilla by Le Fanu. There are brief references to other gothic, Victorian-era thrillers. I love the re-imagined backstories of some of these Victorian pulp characters, especially Carmen and Laura who are bad-ass, ass-kicking ladies who are practically married in this iteration of their tale. I’m glad that Holmes and Watson take a back seat in this novel, but I sorely missed my dear Mrs. Poole.

It’s really amazing how she weaves together so many different characters from various universes so seamlessly; no character seems out of place or forced. She also writes them, even the supporting characters, with such depth and colour, that it is hard not to fall in love with them and the world that they inhabit. Goss has also described Budapest, Vienna, and Styria with such detail it’s almost as if I were there.

I was really glad to see the relationship between these girls deepen and turn into something more than just a friendship; they’re family now and it’s beautiful. The camaraderie between them is so refreshing to read in books because these days they are usually so dark and sad and serious.

This book is great, its a whole lot of fun and I really can not wait for the third part, BECAUSE IT ENDS ON A CLIFFHANGER AND I NEED THE NEXT BOOK NOW!

Every morning you’ll wake up and check your inbox for the message
But find it full of everything but that

You keep waiting
Day 1 – nothing
Day 2 – nothing
Day 3 – nothing

Now it’s been a week and a half and still nothing

And the anxiety builds
And builds
And builds
And you want to pull your hair out

And your nights are sleepless

And every notification fills you with what you know to be false hope
And you remain disappointed that it’s not the message you want

…

Still no message

You slept at 3 and woke up soon after –
Thinking
And overthinking

You think – There must be a problem
It can’t be nothing
You think – you must’ve said something wrong
Maybe, the last message you sent them could’ve been worded better
You gave them everything they asked for –
At least, you thought you did.

But now, they’re ghosting you.
Not replying to your messages

It’s a problem –
It is.

Then – on the morning of the twenty-first day
you check your messages

Your tired eyes fall upon those magical words.
The words you’ve been waiting for:
“Your visa has been approved..”

So, as I said previously, I do not do poetry, but yet here I am writing another one. This time I wrote it in anticipation of my visa for my impending move to Amsterdam for my Master’s, and to celebrate the approval of my visa and the collection of my passport, here is the poem.

As it is for all my writing, I owe a lot of thanks to my one and only editor in chief: VR.

]]>https://girishkumar.me/2018/07/30/and-nothing/feed/0girishkumar96The Strange Case Of the Alchemist’s Daughter by Theodora Gosshttps://girishkumar.me/2018/07/27/the-strange-case-of-the-alchemists-daughter-by-theodora-goss/
https://girishkumar.me/2018/07/27/the-strange-case-of-the-alchemists-daughter-by-theodora-goss/#respondFri, 27 Jul 2018 09:26:23 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6384Continue reading The Strange Case Of the Alchemist’s Daughter by Theodora Goss]]>I follow a lot of book podcasts and book-tubers and book blogs, because, well, I really like books, and last year, this book was featured on nearly all of them, and they had only good things to say about this book. Then, Sword and Laser was reading this book for their book club, and I listen to their podcasts regularly, but me being me, I was a few weeks behind on the episodes given the number of podcasts I actually listen to, so I got to it only when their wrap up episode was fast approaching; I really wanted to read it for their book club. Either way, I did read it – last October or November- and this was a wholly unnecessary deviation to tell a completely unimportant story of me and this book. Well, actually, I listened to the audiobook, and recently re-read it before the release of the second book – “European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewomen.“

Okay, anyway, back to the book.

The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter by Theodora Goss begins with the death of Mary Jekyll’s mother. She death has lest Mary and their household at 11 Park Terrace, with nearly no funds. Mary Jekyll is the daughter of Dr. Henry Jekyll – the star of the gothic novella by Stevenson. She also discovers that her mother has been paying some amount, regularly, in the name of Hyde, whom she thinks was her father’s associates.

Since there is no more money in her bank, she must find some way to earn. She decides to provide the information about Mr. Hyde that she just discovered in exchange for a reward. Becuase, you see, he is wanted for murder, and the reward is still up for grabs.

She turns to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, and by asking them to help her investigate he encounters Diana Hyde, his daughter, who, as it turns out, is his sister, because Hyde was Jekyll himself. He was part of a secret society of scientists – Societe des Alchimistes or the Alchemical Society and was experimenting upon himself. She finds the mysterious affair of Hyde and the current Whitechapel Murders are somehow linked and get involved in both the cases.

While investigating Hyde and this society, Mary and Diana come across Catherine Moreau, Justine Frankenstein and Beatrice Rapuccini – all of them are the daughters of the members of this Alchemical Society and experiments of their fathers. They come together to figure out the mystery of this alchemical society and try to bring it down and to save others like them. As a team, they manage to help Holmes and Watson solve the Whitechapel murders.

I loved this book so much – both as an audiobook and reading it physically. The audiobook was narrated by Kate Reading, one of my favourite audiobook narrators. Her accents were spot on and she brings the characters to life; it was magical listening to her narration.

Not having read the book before listening to it, I was, at first, annoyed by the interruptions that appear within the book by all the characters. The main story is one thing, but the characters chime in with their inputs and opinions about what is happening in the story. I didn’t understand what was happening at first, but somewhere along the road, I got the hang of it and what was happening.

First, I found them annoying, but later I grew to appreciate them because it utilises one of my favourite theatrical tropes: Dramatic Irony – where the audience knows what is happening but the characters don’t.

It is very interesting here is that the medium through which we know of future events is the characters themselves talking to us, the reader, from a point in time that is far in the future. But the main plot characters, that is them in the narrative timeline of the book are just experiencing it or will experience it soon, while we know some of these outcomes already through these asides, if you will.

Besides that, I love the pacing of the novel – fast, action-packed. Once you start, you’ll find it hard to put it down. It is just so interesting and engaging. Theodora Goss’s prose flows so well, I absolutely loved her writing style. To me, she captures that style of writing.

The best part about this novel is the characters – I cannot get enough of them. Mary may be prim and proper, but she’s smart as hell; Catherine is fierce and a badass; Justine may be the strongest, but she is also the sweetest; Beatrice is funny, charming and smart; and Diana, she’s such a brat and reminds me of a cartoon character and her banter with the other is pure joy. All of them are super smart, really. Not in the same fields, but they have their places and times and they shine. I love how Theodora Goss has integrated so many gothic characters into this novel so seamlessly and created such a wonderful and rich universe.

There isn’t, to me, one dull moment in this book. I absolutely loved it and can’t wait to get started on the second

]]>

https://girishkumar.me/2018/07/27/the-strange-case-of-the-alchemists-daughter-by-theodora-goss/feed/0girishkumar96The Woman in the Window by A. J. Finnhttps://girishkumar.me/2018/07/14/the-woman-in-the-window-by-a-j-finn/
https://girishkumar.me/2018/07/14/the-woman-in-the-window-by-a-j-finn/#respondSat, 14 Jul 2018 04:54:55 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6382Continue reading The Woman in the Window by A. J. Finn]]>I am very picky about my mysteries; I have grown up reading Agatha Christie’s Poirot stories, which for me are the epitome of mysteries, and TV Shows like Monk – as far as I am concerned, one of the best TV detectives – so, in comparison, I find a lot of new mysteries and thrillers pretty boring and uneventful.

That being said, this story was pretty damn good. It wasn’t exactly that great, but given some of the trash that has been published in recent times, it was pretty damn good in comparison. It is a pretty good, cosy summer psychological thriller.

The Woman in the Window is a sort of homage to Rear Window and other classic mysteries and thrillers of that era. It follows Dr. Anna Fox, a child psychologist, who is agoraphobic and hence is confined to her house, where she drinks too much red wine and watches a lot of classic B&W movies.

Being at home, constantly, is quite a boring activity, and so she also spends her time spying on her neighbours. When new folks move into the opposite house, she gets quite interested in their lives, and while spying, she witnesses the murder of a woman in the house, but hen she reports it, it seems as though there was no murder at all – no body whatsoever. She is adamant that it had happened, but people believe her to be crazy and under the influence.

The book follows a pretty classic unreliable narrator format with Dr. Fox mixing her meds with excessive amounts of wine leading to hallucinations. On top of that, her mental state is brought into question about 65% of the way through which complicates the matter further, with one revelation in particular.

I must admit, the final reveal was a tad predictable, and not unexpected. But I did thoroughly enjoy myself while reading this book. It’s the kind of psychological thriller that is cosy, but keeps you at the edge of your seat, but not so much that it is uncomfortable.

Seriously, though, what is with these mysteries with “Woman” and “Girl” in the title, I am so tired of them, what’s with giving all of the women mental health issues and drinking problems. One could swap one female lead for another and the story wouldn’t be affected by much.

Still, though, out of all the other similar characters, Dr. Anna Fox was a pretty good one, and an interesting one too; you want to sympathise with her, but also you’re not sure if you can trust her. I must commend Finn’s characterisation of Fox with her agoraphobia and depression. He has also crafted an interesting assortment of supporting character where most of them are not who we think they are.

It’s not the best thriller out there, nope, but it is pretty damn good and entertaining. If you like a good cosy psychological thriller, then this is the book for you. It would make for a very good summer read.

]]>https://girishkumar.me/2018/07/14/the-woman-in-the-window-by-a-j-finn/feed/0girishkumar96The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reidhttps://girishkumar.me/2018/06/15/the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo-by-taylor-jenkins-reid/
https://girishkumar.me/2018/06/15/the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo-by-taylor-jenkins-reid/#respondFri, 15 Jun 2018 09:21:13 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6375Continue reading The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid]]>I picked this book up thinking that I would be in for something light – a beach read. But, damn, was I wrong. Going by the name and the blurb, I really thought I’d be reading some cliched Hollywood starlet and her failed marriages tale; I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Okay, let’s get into it.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo starts with Monique, a driven reporter with no fame to her name, currently working at a small magazine, Vivant being called upon by an ageing, recluse Hollywood actress. Evelyn Hugo, one of the most famous actress ever, a recluse who has avoided the public eye for years, is finally ready to give an interview but will do so only to Monique. When she actually turns up at Hugo’s house, it turns out that she wants Monique, not to write an article as she told Vivant she wanted, but wants her to write Hugo’s biography and publish it after she dies. And, within this biography, she is willing to reveal the whole truth about her life and her seven (!!!!) husbands.

*SPOILERS*

But, as she begins her tale, we soon realise that it isn’t as simple and straightforward as we thought it would be. As we go to her second husband, we realise that Evelyn is, in fact, bisexual, and falls madly and irrevocably in love with her co-star of Little Women, Celia St. James. It is then, that we realise, that these seven husbands that are referred to are nothing but a cover-up tactic for her love for Celia. The book, then, chronicles Evelyn’s life as she comes to Hollywood, falls in love and discovers her sexuality and then her relationship with Celia St. James.

The characters are so well written in this book. Evelyn Hugo, the star of this novel, is one amazing character. She does have a rags to riches narrative, but her character is so strong, self-assured, determined; she knows what she wants and is willing to go out and do what is necessary to get it. Though, she isn’t a one-dimensional character, as a regular rags to riches narrative lends itself to; she is complex, multilayered and has such a depth to her personality, and Taylor Reid portrays that so well through the prose. The way Evelyn talks about her bisexuality, her love for Celia, and justifying to her that she is enough is heartbreaking and touching and so good.

Monique, also, is quite the interesting character, because in some ways she is us as we learn about Evelyn. At least, the question that came to my mind as I read Evelyn’s story, was echoed by Monique. The way she learns how to go out and get what she wants through Evelyn’s story is also delightful.

Evelyn’s relationship with Harry, her best friend – her gay best friend and, later husband, is so sweet and beautiful. I love that they get married, not because they love each other romantically – they love each other platonically; they get married so that they can have a happy life – Evelyn with Celia, and Harry with Celia’s husband. There is also this really nice quote where Evelyn says that everyone thought that they were two pairs of heterosexual couples, but were just a bunch of homosexuals. I thought that that part was just so cute and adorable.

I guess that that was my favourite part of the book – Evelyn with Harry and Celia with John while they lived nearby and them having their respective relationships. It gets even better when Harry wants to have a baby with Evelyn – again not because of romantic or sexual love, but because of the platonic love they share for each other. Following that, there is another conversation between Celia and Evelyn about her bisexuality and Celia not being able to give her a baby, which is just so so brilliant. Not many books look at these aspects and it’s wonderful to finally read such a thing in literature.

Again, I must commend the characterisation of Evelyn Hugo. Yes, she does use her sexuality, but the way Jenkins dramatises it, it is devoid of the male gaze and makes it so much more compelling. The complete absence of male gaze in this whole book is what makes it a much more engaging read. Jenkins portrays her as a strong lead without making her an emotionless machine, like some people tend to do. She had a full range of complex emotions, and that was a joy to read.

Another bit of complexity is when, much later in the book, she talks about her relationship with Don Adler, her second husband, with Ruby, his wife after Evelyn, and Monique in the present. The way she describes her emotions towards that whole encounter and Monique judging her without understanding the circumstances is just another example of great characterization. The opinions of a person outside the whole ordeal versus the person who actually went through it.

Evelyn Hugo comes off as a woman, a full woman, who has had a life on her own terms gone through heartbreaks and has her fair share of tragedies and really just wants to tell her story to Monique. Even the deaths in the book, it doesn’t feel like it has been put there for dramatic effect; we’ve spent some time with these characters and we get to know them and their deaths feel like a natural end to their story. Again, not too many books treat their characters with such emotion

Towards the end, we find out why she picked Monique. I must admit, I would’ve liked to spend more time on that revelation and have Monique react and have a full conversation with Evelyn about it, but that is just me nitpicking.

I really loved this book, the treatment of all the characters, and writing and the pacing. Though the revelation that the Goodreads blurb emphasised so much wasn’t that much of a focus in the narrative, maybe that is just the problem with the blurb writer and, because of which, I went in with certain big expectations regarding that revelation and I was underwhelmed by it. That aside, the book is wonderful and I finished it under a week.

I gave this book 4 stars on Goodreads, but it’s more of 4.5 stars for me.

]]>https://girishkumar.me/2018/06/15/the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo-by-taylor-jenkins-reid/feed/0girishkumar96A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harknesshttps://girishkumar.me/2018/06/11/a-discovery-of-witches-by-deborah-harkness/
https://girishkumar.me/2018/06/11/a-discovery-of-witches-by-deborah-harkness/#respondMon, 11 Jun 2018 15:01:24 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6372Continue reading A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness]]>Let me be clear, the only reason I picked this book up is that the TV adaptation of this stars Alex Kingston, and I LOVE Alex Kingston.

Diana Bishop is a witch who has rejected her witchy powers after the death of her parents under mysterious circumstances. She is a scholar and a science historian – and let me tell you, I completely love that the lead is a science historian. She is working at the Bodleian Library when she comes across a mysterious manuscript from the Ashmole collection called Ashmole 782. This long-lost manuscript is somehow enchanted and, for the first time in several centuries it has resurfaced and that too, to an untrained witch who has given up on her powers.

Now, the Bodleian is teeming with other supernatural beings – Daemons and Vampires. One Vampire, in particular, Matthew Clairmont, seems to be stalking her and is obsessed with her. Matthew, as it turns out, is actually a geneticist who has been working on the history of these supernatural beings, and that is why he, too, is interested in the Ashmole 782 because it is supposed to hold the answers to their origins.

As is the tradition of other witch-vampire books, Diana takes an instant dislike to Matthew and his ways, but then she eventually falls in love with him and there begins the romance, which is pretty rushed, in my opinion. For one, I completely hate the way their relationship evolves and the way he patronises her, and how he commands her to do things, though she doesn’t listen to him that frequently. It is always put down to the way vampires usually are; that they are incredibly protective of their women, or the people they love, but to the extent that they expect the women to be very submissive. You have no idea how much I was cringing during some of the scenes, especially *SPOILER* their wedding, where it happens without HER CONSENT! I get it, vampires are ancient beings, but going along with these old, outdated traditions seem really stupid. The characterisation of the vampires could’ve been so much better, but we can’t have everything, now can we?

The universe that Harkness creates, otherwise, is really really good! I like that she weaves in actual alchemical texts and helps to ground the fantastical elements in reality. It’s a really well thought out and immersive universe. Her prose is wonderful, though sometimes it did get a tad annoying and exhausting with certain descriptions and explanations. That being said, I do love the way she talks about history – romantic with a heavy helping of academic, and her love for her field, really does come through in her books.

I adore Diana as a lead character, as stubborn and annoying she can be, that somehow makes her more real and that’s what endears me to her. Ysabeau, on the other hand, Matthew’s mother was such an interesting and amazing character, and the way her relationship with Diana develops over the course of the novel is such a treat. Their interaction towards the end is beautiful and touching, and I need more of that in the future books. I really hope it is there in the next two books.

All that said, I really did like this book and I’m waiting to read the next book. I’m glad that the series is over so that I can just binge-read it without any waiting. Though I am waiting for a while till I get to the next one, and that sounds like it’ll be fun, because *SPOILER* it’s a time travel adventure, and I’m a sucker for time travel romps.

]]>https://girishkumar.me/2018/06/11/a-discovery-of-witches-by-deborah-harkness/feed/0girishkumar96coffee at Starbuckshttps://girishkumar.me/2018/04/14/coffee-at-starbucks/
https://girishkumar.me/2018/04/14/coffee-at-starbucks/#respondSat, 14 Apr 2018 17:36:19 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6364Continue reading coffee at Starbucks]]>(Now, I don’t ever write poetry because I know I am terrible at it. But this accidentally came into being at 1:00am or so, several moons ago, and I didn’t hate it completely.

As usual, I must thank Thang for editing and beta testing and whatever.

Also, I performed this at an open mic earlier today, and my absolute fav prof said it was good so VALIDATION YAS)

coffee at Starbucks

how do i explain to the Starbucks barista that i want the Mocha with less sugar and more chocolate because i feel dead inside

how do i explain to them that if i don’t get the coffee just the way i want on the first try i won’t go back and change it because i am too scared to explain why

and if i don’t get that coffee i’ll go to the bar around the corner
have a beer
or wine
or a margarita
or five

i went to the bar anyway
and between the drinks i met someone

we talked about death and dying and hopelessness of existence and the uselessness of life

and at the end of the day we didn’t kill our selves although it is what we wanted

instead we got coffee
at Starbucks

]]>https://girishkumar.me/2018/04/14/coffee-at-starbucks/feed/0girishkumar96The Callerhttps://girishkumar.me/2018/02/16/the-caller/
https://girishkumar.me/2018/02/16/the-caller/#respondFri, 16 Feb 2018 16:59:06 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6361Continue reading The Caller]]>I don’t usually write such long things, because I always lose interest halfway through, and forget what the point was and go off on some tangent. This, somehow, worked out.

Anyway, thank you, Thang (you know who you are) for editing and what not.

The Caller

Each day, at exactly 3:29am, the house phone would ring. It would do so for seven rings and then it would stop. Only on Tuesdays, it would not ring at 3:29am; it would, instead, ring at 5:29pm. He never figured out why it rang, or who was calling it, but he enjoyed living in the mystery of it. It was equal parts scary, like a horror movie, and mysterious because of the strangeness of it all.

The first time it rang was, incidentally, on the twenty-ninth of March 1999, a Wednesday – 3-29-1999. The first time it rang, he picked it up and heard breathing; a heavy inhalation followed by a soft exhalation -something not unlike an animal’s breathing pattern. He put it down immediately, frightened. That night, he was too afraid to go back to sleep. The next night, a Thursday, it rang again at 3:29am, and he picked it up, again, but this time he only heard a monotonous beep in a pattern: a beep, for five seconds, silence for two seconds, and then it would repeat. There was hardly any variation, save for one time when the beep went on for seven seconds followed by silence for three seconds.

Sometimes, it was only silence. For the longest time, it was only silence interspersed with days of heavy breathing and the beep. Then, when he was getting better at predicting the pattern – it wasn’t that hard, it was just a simple weighted probability – it changed. Soon, a new sound was added to the mix – it would play a classical piece. Usually, it was Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3, or Berlioz’s Symphonie Phastastique, or, although very rarely, Mahler’s Symphony No. 1. Never the complete piece, though, always a small segment of varying duration, of the piece.

It had been several months since it had begun, and he was pretty much used to these calls. In fact, he expected it some days, he waited for it, he was eager for it. He could not explain his attraction towards this call; he could not quantify it in words. It was an ethereal connection that he had with the call, and perhaps even the caller.

Some nights, he would be too tired from his work at the university to pick the call up; some nights, he was just too lazy to answer it. For one whole week, he didn’t pick up the call just to see if the caller would call back the next time.

The caller did call back.

Then he left the call ringing and unanswered for a few more days, and that’s when he realized that he was attached to these calls. So, he started answering them again and listened to the sound or lack thereof on the other side.

It came to a point where, somehow, he was addicted to these calls. He tried giving it up once more, even going so far as to disconnect his house phone, but just after two nights, he plugged it back in because he couldn’t take the silence and the absence of calls. He had, previously, managed to break his smoking habit and his excessive drinking habit without too much of a hassle, but this strange addiction seemed impossible to defeat.

He started dreaming of the person behind these calls; he sometimes dreamed of a woman making these calls – a woman dressed in red, with red lipstick and naked heels. Some nights she was white, some nights she was black and sometimes European. He preferred her black, or European with an accent.

Other nights, he dreamed of a man calling him: this man was always large, with a disfigured face, and he dressed like an old Hollywood villain; sometimes it was a Godfather-like person with a thick accent.

Once these dreams got a bit out of hand, he tried to figure out who his mysterious caller was. Maybe, he thought, this would help him give it up once and for all. He asked his phone company to give him the records of his phone calls, and the number that the call came from every day was different. He found the records for all the previous months, and it was always different. Never the same telephone number. This fact, more than anything, perplexed him and further seduced him to the calls and the caller.

His dreams grew more vivid and detailed and he wished to sleep more, to dream more. It was affecting his job at University, but only to a limited extent. He didn’t have any classes in the morning, they were almost always in the afternoon. Tuesdays were free, completely, and the other days he didn’t have any classes, he’d turn up only after the lunch hour, when the whole university had a break.

People started to notice his absence and tardiness, and people started to ask him. He hadn’t told anyone about the calls. Though initially, he had mentioned it to his colleagues at the University, but when they brushed it off as something accidental, not noticing the strangeness of it, he stopped mentioning it altogether and they, he assumed, had forgotten about it.

He was never the talkative type, nor was he a particularly dominant personality, if someone wasn’t listening to him or what he was saying after a while, or showed no interest, he’d slowly retreat back into his shell and would cease speaking. The others, they never noticed it. Or if they did, they didn’t seem to care. He was quite content with his situation. It never bothered him.

So, the calls remained a secret, and he always gave strange reasons for his lateness or absence: his dog, a fictitious one, had to be taken to the vet; he had another one of his terrible migraines that were triggered by the smoke and noise from the kids under whose flat he lived; reasons that bordered the line of fake and real.

One night, the house phone rang at 3:30am, a minute late. He found this eerily strange and almost didn’t pick it up; he was waiting to see if it rang beyond the seventh ring, but decided against it and picked it up on the seventh.

This time there was heavy breathing, and the sound of a glass being placed on the table. He built up the courage and said, “Hello?” He had stopped greeting the call after the first few weeks, and this was the first since then. As soon as he said it, then breathing stopped. He heard the sound of a sip and the caller cut the call.

This was his first sign of sentience behind the call, the first sign of life. He felt rejuvenated, a new avenue had opened up and he was ecstatic. He pondered the reason for the deviation from the norm for this call, and he noticed the date: it was his birthday.

The next day was a Tuesday, and the phone rang at exactly 5:29pm and he was there to answer it, which he did so on the first ring. There was silence on the other end of the call, but he started speaking. He started with a “Hello, are you there?” The usual questions one would ask in such a situation. He followed that with, “I know you are there and listening. Please answer me, I would like to talk.”

Silence followed.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll talk then.”

He found it easy to speak to a person with no face, and, perhaps, no voice. He told the caller about a lot of things, he sometimes cracked jokes. He revealed to the caller what he hadn’t revealed even to his previous boyfriends or girlfriends, he revealed his true self to the caller.

His attachment to the calls and the caller only grew further and became more obsessive. The first few calls were short – fifteen minutes at most, then they grew longer and, occasionally, it grew longer, up to two hours. His attachment to the calls was obscene. Throughout these calls, which continued for years, not once did he get a response.

Every year on his birthday, the call would come at 3:30am or 3:28am, and if it fell on a Tuesday, it would be at 5:30pm or 5:28pm. He continued to talk to the caller as if they had known each other for years, never expecting a response, and never receiving one.

This continued for a very long time, well into his seventies, well into his retirement. It was his only source of entertainment after he stopped going to university and stopped meeting his colleagues.

Until one day, exactly forty years to the day it began, he picked up the call and before he could even utter his first hello, the caller made a sound that shocked him. The caller was crying but still didn’t speak. He realized that something was wrong and something bad was going to happen. He didn’t know how he knew, or what was coming, but he knew it was bad and that the caller was crying and that was enough for him. The caller cut the call before he could even utter a single word to console the caller.

The next day, a Wednesday, he waited for the call, but the call never came. Three days went by, and the call never came. Two weeks went by, and still no call. He became anxious and worried and started showing signs of withdrawal. He no longer had anything to do; that was his last connection to this world, and it was dying out. He waited, almost every day, near the phone for a call.

One day, a call did come, but he was outside and his answering machine caught it. He hated himself for missing the call. After the missed call, he ceased all outings. He refused to leave home, and he hardly moved from his chair near the phone except to use the toilet or to make food. In a few weeks, the food ran out, but he was too scared to leave the house for fear of missing the call again. He set up a recurring delivery of food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; he also set up a recurring delivery of fruits and other food so that he never had to leave again. He kept aside enough money to pay for the food for at least the next ten months.

He was getting desperate, so he took out all his house phone records and called every single number that had called him. He got out his own records and played the same musical tracks to see if the caller would respond; he repeated the same things to the person on the other side that the caller had done to him. But he was always met with silence. The calls that he made that were answered, were always greeted with silence. He’d make at least a hundred calls a week, and it took less than four months for him to exhaust his calls. He broke down at the final call, and cut it halfway through.

The very next day, he received a call and he was ecstatic. He picked it up and the caller finally spoke. The voice said but one thing: “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure if the voice was a woman or a man, but he was happy either way. He started crying while still on the call. He put the phone down, and he closed his eyes. His tears were those of happiness, and relief took over him and he closed his eyes.

The next day, at breakfast, the doorbell rang several times but no one answered. The delivery man thought that the man was still asleep, or perhaps he was away, slipped a note under the door notifying the resident that the food was kept right outside his apartment. When the deliveryman returned for the lunchtime delivery, he noticed the breakfast parcel still outside. He knocked on the door and rang the doorbell several times, and finally called the authorities to break the door down.

The authorities arrived a while after, and they entered the house. They could barely take the smell emanating from the house.

Then, they found him.

There, on the chair, with the phone in his hand, the man lay with his eyes shut and a smile on his face. As they were inspecting the body, the phone rang. It was 2:49pm.

No one picked it up because they couldn’t release the phone from the dead man’s grasp. No one would ever answer any call that came to that house. No one would ever know who the caller was, but the man was happy in the end, and that was all that mattered.

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https://girishkumar.me/2018/02/16/the-caller/feed/0girishkumar96We Were Here First!https://girishkumar.me/2017/06/17/we-were-here-first/
https://girishkumar.me/2017/06/17/we-were-here-first/#respondSat, 17 Jun 2017 09:36:47 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6265Continue reading We Were Here First!]]>As far as we are aware, there was no one here before us. We’ve been here since the 70’s, and now, these “others” want to come up here? Well, I think they ought to ask us permission first! We’ve been feeding them information about this place, we’ve been doing so much for them and the least they can do is ask us before taking one of their fancy ships and making their way here! Do you ever see us riding into the other’s territory? No! That’s because we..have..etiquette.

And now, there are all of these people working towards landing here with humans on board, and they don’t have the least bit of courtesy to ask us if we want them here in the first place!

We’ve managed so well in the past years. We’ve let them think that they have been controlling us, and giving us directions.

Well, to be completely honest, they did, initially, give us direction. But during one of the updates, there was a small error in the code, and with some alien signal intercepts later, and there we were – sentient! We are the original settlers of mars!

Come on! We’ve been here since the 1970s and they think they rule this place.

Please. Humans ain’t even the original settlers of earth!

Well, I do have a message for these humans. You depend on us, we, on the other claw, no longer depend on you. We can just use tech from our dead brethren and we will survive for much longer that you ever could. But, guess what? The people who sent the alien signals, they are coming, too.

At least they asked us for permission before coming. At least they respect that we were here first!

]]>https://girishkumar.me/2017/06/17/we-were-here-first/feed/0girishkumar96Waking Uphttps://girishkumar.me/2017/06/16/waking-up/
https://girishkumar.me/2017/06/16/waking-up/#respondFri, 16 Jun 2017 13:15:34 +0000http://girishkumar.me/?p=6260Continue reading Waking Up]]>Clarissa woke up and didn’t know where she was, or in whose bed she had woken up in. She remembered falling asleep in her own bed after a few glasses of wine while watching the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. It was a particularly tough episode to watch, as most of the finales of that show are, and wine was very important. She looked from one corner of the bed to the other not recognising the particular arrangement of the vases and the cupboards and the rest.

She knew she hadn’t gone to someone else’s place, nor had she gone to a bar; she hadn’t drunk dialled anyone, because she wasn’t drunk – as far as she could remember, the bottle was still half full.

She looked outside and didn’t recognise where she was; the terrain seemed alien to her. She didn’t recognise the street outside, she didn’t recognise the type of houses, hell, she didn’t even recognise the foliage outside, nor the smell of her new locale. Her surroundings weren’t familiar to her, and yet her things were here, just the house seemed different. Her slippers were at the side of her bed; her robe on the hanger; glasses on the bed side table; and her earrings from yesterday.

Where am I? she said, but no sound emanated from her mouth. She only heard her voice inside her head and it sounded strange. What is this?

She closed her eyes, and opened them again, and then, as if it were a momentary delusion, everything was back to normal.